The love affair between the Red Sox suits and David Ortiz has played out more like marriage on the rocks the last couple of years. The problem: money. Shocking, eh?

Look, all players think they’re worth more than they’re getting. At least their agents do. The more the agent gets for his player, the more he puts into his own pocket.

There is no disputing Ortiz’s iconic status. In 2003, he came to the Red Sox cheap and hardly known. From 2004-06 he belted 142 home runs and drove in 424. Those are Ruthian numbers. He may not make it to Cooperstown, but the Red Sox Hall of Fame is a lock for Big Papi.

He couldn’t run and he couldn’t field. He just hit, and hit, and nobody did it better in the clutch when he was at the top of his game.

In the last few years a lot of players would have taken Ortiz’s stats in a heartbeat. Still, the numbers were tailing off, at least by his lofty standards. His body was breaking down at a time when he was looking for a contract extension. Management balked. They were concerned that Ortiz might lose it fast, that the downhill spiral was already in effect. They forced him to accept one-year deals.

Ortiz fumed. He was bitter. It was a strain on both sides. Ortiz’s smile that illuminates a room was seen less. Many of Big Papi fans were siding with management. Didn’t make sense to pay him big money down the road. Too risky. The indignant Ortiz settled for one-year deals.

In November, as he turned 37, he settled on a two-year deal worth $26 million, with incentives that could puff it up to $30 million. Ortiz can thank the inflated contract housecleaning deal the Red Sox pulled off with the Dodgers.

OK, it’s not three years. But nobody wants to hear Big Papi complaining anymore, or shuffling around like a wounded bear. No more whining about an RBI lost on a scorer’s call, and embarrassing the manager at the same time. They’re paying Ortiz to hit. Sure, he’s got the guaranteed money, but the pressure is on him to put up strong numbers again.

Ortiz must know he won’t be playing anywhere in 2015, that this is his last deal no matter what happens. Two more years, then hello beach. All he can hope for is a dignified stretch to the finish line. And that, of course, depends on his health.

The last time we saw Ortiz in 2012 he was limping around because of a sprained right Achilles’ tendon. It happened running from second to third. Pop! And his season was essentially over. Ninety games. He was having a good season too: .318 with 23 homers and 60 RBI.

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He arrived in Fort Myers last week still hobbling. Not a good sign for a big man that age.

This Red Sox team, for obvious reasons, will perform under extreme scrutiny. The players will be on short leashes. The buffoonery of the last seven months that they were on the field incensed the paying customers and owners. It made the team a national punch line. This year nobody’s exempt from the fans' wrath - well, maybe Pedroia - but not Big Papi. Once, getting on his case would be unthinkable. Those days are gone.

He has to hit. If he doesn’t hit lefties, manager John Farrell has musical chair options for a righthanded designated hitter - Jonny Gomes, Mike Napoli, Mauro Gomez, Pedro Ciriaco.

The Red Sox need to get off to a good start. Ortiz pounding pitchers, righties and lefties, has to happen. The sins of the recent past won’t soon be forgotten. The microscope they play under has gotten bigger.

Ortiz has meant a lot to this city. He became one of the most popular Boston athletes ever. A big smile and good community deeds will only buy you so much love. Ortiz got that way by being a fierce hitter with the game on the line.

He may not be that Big Papi anymore. And he might not have to be. Let’s see how this makeover team does. However, a DH is only asked to do one thing. If Ortiz doesn’t hit with authority, if he can’t stay healthy, then anyone who blasted management in the past for not giving Ortiz a three-year deal will be asking why did they decide to give him two years now.

Nobody wants to see Ortiz’s career stagger to the finish line. That’s the simple truth. The rest is a little more complicated. And you know who it’s up to.